every time i held a rose, it seems i only felt the thorns
by black-ostias
Summary: this is a dangerous game that arataka's been making you play for months now, and you still don't know the rules. / age swap AU. in which things change, and maybe they'll be for the better. COMPLETE
1. you can make decisions too

mob's POV

* * *

Arataka's been smoking again.

It's draped all over him, in the stinging scent across his gakuran and the shifty grin across his face. You sigh and look back down at your and Tome's joint calendar of appointments, deciding not to say anything. Tome advised you that noticing and giving attention to bad behavior would only further encourage it. And that you should dwell on the positive instead.

Arataka hops onto the side of your desk and begins prattling on about an anecdote you can't follow. Perhaps another of his yarns that he didn't get to finish and expects that you'll still be able to pick up, hours or even days after the fact.

What Tome doesn't realize, you think helplessly, watching Arataka flap his hands around like fowl in pursuit of each other, is that there are too many things about Reigen that you think are positive, despite this recent vice.

He's outgoing. He knows what he wants in life and isn't afraid to ask for it. And underneath all that loud bravado, he is kind. As grateful as you are for the few friends you do have, sometimes you wish you'd had someone like Arataka in your life when you were younger.

He glows like a lighthouse in the repetitive fog you've been circling around, guiding you away from seas of anxiety and silence. Ever since you first met, he insists on calling you 'shishou,' and yet it's you who benefits from him.

Tome would probably call you pathetic and creepy. She would most definitely be right.

"Shishou."

You try your best not to jump in your seat, ripping your gaze away from the boy. But Arataka scoots in until his knee is nudging yours, and his face, his smoothly handsome face, is filling your vision. To make matters worse, the slyness there has multiplied, the kind he gets when he's tracked down a new haunted location or found a restaurant with special discounts, and is about to rope you into it. He continues, "Shishou, where's Tome-sensei gone off to?"

You duck your head and type on your laptop, so you have something else to do. "Some clients claimed they had a haunted painting. There was nothing so she brought them and the painting over to a nearby field to salt and burn it."

"So it's just you and me, then."

Now you have no doubts as to what he wants. "Arataka—"

His hands lights on yours, squeezing your fingers, and it takes you a few seconds to free yourself from his grip. "Hey, a client could walk in!"

"I locked the door."

A frustrated snarl clambers up your throat, and you shove yourself to full height, almost knocking your chair over. "Go to your desk," you say to the general direction of his face. "_Now_."

Arataka hops off your desk, keeping toe to toe with you, tilting his head back all the way to meet your eye with a smirk. "Make me."

This is a dangerous game that he's been making you play for months now, and you still don't know the rules. It happens at random, and you're never prepared. Sometimes he'll be in gym shorts. Or touching you at every possible opportunity. Saying such suggestive things that a seventeen-year-old shouldn't even know.

"I've told you a hundred times now, you should be experimenting with kids your own age."

"And I still don't care. I don't want them, I want you."

Yet another inexplicable thing; why Arataka even started this game in the first place. It's probably his awe of your psychic power, added with raging hormones, and he's conflated the two in what he _thinks_ is attraction to you.

At this point, your resolve is pared down to nothing, psychic energy boiling under your skin, threatening to wreak havoc. This might be why your brain loses control and the rest of you takes over, puppeteering your mouth into saying: "once."

"H-huh?"

"We do it once. Experiment everything out of your system. And if you ever pester me again, I'm banning you from the office. Permanently."

His eyes widen, like he can't quite believe that you've finally caved in. An exquisite pink crawls onto his cheeks and ears. "Um. Holy fuck. Okay."

You allow yourself a faint grin. "Let's go, then."

"H-huh? Where?"

"To my apartment."

Arataka all but trips over himself in his hurry to grab his bag.

After you lock up the office, the walk to your apartment is quiet, fraught with tension. You begin to rethink your spur-of-the-moment decision, worrying that your neighbors might see you bringing a teenage boy home, that you'll be seen by someone who knows you. But then again, Arataka doesn't deserve to have his first time in some seedy love motel. And isn't _that_ a whole other can of worms, the fact that you'll be taking this boy's virginity. Your fraught control is slipping again, more nauseous with fear than arousal.

You glance beside you and find that Arataka doesn't have such a problem at all. The way he's walking and pulling the front of his school shirt down indicate that he's already half-hard. He's staring down the sidewalk with stubborn determination, and you helplessly think that he looks so adorable. He hasn't stopped blushing since you agreed to his terrible idea. Perhaps that is what compels you to reach out and lay a hand on his too-warm neck.

"Hgk—!" He whips his head around to boggle at you. "What?"

"You okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb in a gentle circle to try and calm him. But it seems to have the opposite effect, because he flushes even worse and utters a garbled sound, his knees buckling a bit and oh.

_Oh._

"I'm only barely touching you," you tell him, trying not to sound too amused.

Arataka does his best to glare at you. "It's the fact that you're touching me at all, yo_oohnh_—!" He slaps a hand over his mouth, because you're now tracing the shell of his ear. He's so. So receptive, and now you're getting excited too. You suddenly remember that you're on a busy street, and you drop your hand.

You can't help quipping, "I'll do it more later," and try not to relish his low whine too much.

There's no one in the lobby of your building, and you don't pass anyone you know, which are small mercies. Arataka is so quiet behind you that it's like you're just coming home on any other day, except the moment you lock your front door, he pounces on you, up on his tiptoes trying for a kiss. You chuckle and oblige him, though you pull away when his tongue swipes over your half-open mouth and you taste the ash and nicotine. "That's enough for a first kiss," you tell him as he grumbles and tries to pull you back down. "Wash out your mouth and I'll give you more."

He's about to argue, but then he pauses, and lights up, becomes agreeable. "Okay."

Your apartment is small enough that he finds the only bathroom easily, and you proceed to your bedroom, rolling out the large futon that's usually reserved for guests. You debate if you should undress or wait for him. You settle for taking your jacket and tie off, and you sit and breathe. Restraint. All you need is restraint.

You meditate for so long that it takes you checking your phone to realize that Arataka's been in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes.

Now you're just baffled and worried. You're about to go check on him when he flounces in, nude save for your towel around his waist. "Hi!" he chirps, shaking some water out of his hair.

It takes you a while to un-paralyze yourself from the slim and shapely sight of him, the slice of hipbone peeking out. "You. Did more than wash your mouth."

"Yeah! Had to borrow your shower. I needed to clean myself everywhere." He grins, his blush returning a little. "And I do mean everywhere."

It takes you a few seconds to process, and your throat goes dry with panic. "You... really want to go all the way? I. I don't have condoms."

"I have a whole pack in my bag," he says with a cheeky wink. "Plus lube."

This boy is going to be the death of you. "Arataka, when I meant experimenting, this isn't what I meant, you should save this kind of thing for someone you—"

"Someone you love?"

You pause. He spoke quietly that you almost missed it. None of the bubbly excitement that was there a moment ago is left on his face. He doesn't look at you when he half-laughs, "Yeah. I did."

You're too stunned to react right away. "Arataka. You. You're just confused."

"Four years."

"H-huh?"

"That's how long it's been since I realized I loved you."

There's a sudden concave in your chest like buckshot. Arataka's shoulders hunch up as he starts rambling, "I tried to make it go away, but it didn't. And I knew if I gave you a love confession that you'd just think I'm a stupid kid. So I knew I had to do it. A more grown-up way." He takes a great shuddering breath. "And I don't mind if you just want to do it once, like you said, and I won't bother you about it again. I don't ever want to leave the office, or Tome-sensei, or you, e-especially you, so it's okay, I just want to have this with you, just one time for the rest of my life and I'll be okay, because I just love you so much, Mob-shishou—"

As he keeps talking despite sounding close to tears, the more the ache in your chest grows. You realize that it's your own love, struggling to match his. You realize that this has never been a game at all.

And if this is no game, then there are no rules.

You stand from your futon, scoop him up, and kiss him.

He utters a stunned gasp that lets you lick into his mouth. You taste your own toothpaste, smell your own soap on his heated skin. Yours. Yours. Yours.

Arataka melts into you. He does his best to kiss back, clumsy slide of tongue that's endearing as well as arousing. He tries to grab on to your shirt. The fact that you're still clothed while he isn't is too unbearably exciting. You tighten your arm on the small of his back, and use your free hand to cup his face, rub the line of his jaw. He breaks away, already hyperventilating. "Mob. M-mob," he's gasping, "please, I need to know, is this just about sex for you, or can you learn to love me too?"

You fish for what to say, knowing you're not as eloquent as he is. But you know you're honest. "I already do."

His eyes widen, and some of the tears glimmering there finally escape, and he buries his face in your chest, clinging to you constrictor-tight. You kiss his forehead, returning his embrace, and you stand there just holding each other, breathing, being.

It doesn't take long for Arataka to get excited again, and you can feel him grinding against your thigh, panting hot against your shirt. You chuckle and start to work off its buttons, and you're only halfway through when he whines, "Just pull it off, c'mon." He scrabbles at your undershirt, belt, and pants too, more hindrance than help, and the greedy gasp he makes when you pull down your boxers infects you with his impatience too.

You bring Arataka to your bed and unwrap the towel from his waist. You can't help touching him everywhere, stroking his arms and thighs and stomach with the hand that's not propping you up, wanting to map him out and memorize him. He's so impatient, squeezing his thighs around your hips and digging his nails into your back, trying to get leverage to thrust up against you. "Please," he hiccups, "shishou, you're driving me crazy, quit teasing me and fuck me, _please_."

"We should take things slow. There's no rush now, we have plenty of other times to do something that intense."

Arataka tries to scowl at you through his glassy-eyed lust. "I can handle it!"

You try to laugh, but it comes out as more of a groan. "I'm more worried about me than about you. It's. Been a while. The moment I get inside you I could finish in seconds. And that wouldn't make a good first time for you."

He stills completely. "O-oh? You're really. That close?" He glances down your bodies to study you, and you swear that a bit of drool escapes his mouth. It only tightens the already drawstring-like knot of need in your belly, and you rumble, lower yourself so you can grind against him directly. "Ooh f-fuck, _fuck_, why are you so fucking hot?" he gasps up at the ceiling, almost like a complaint, and you chortle, turn your face from the pillow to mouth at his neck and murmur, "Do you want us to suck each other off?"

Arataka practically shoves you off in his wobbly effort of getting to his knees, and you do laugh this time, utterly charmed. As soon as you're laid down comfortably, he clambers onto you, almost kneeing you in the face. You hear him blow out a shaky breath. "Shit, you're way bigger up close."

You kiss the gentle slope of his ass, relishing how the muscle in it twitches, how he gasps hard enough that you feel it ghost on your cock. "Do whatever you want," you murmur. "I'm just happy it's you."

That was meant to be a reassurance, but he takes it like a dare instead, because he tries swallowing as much of you down as he can straightaway. There's a low shriek, and you glance in the corner to find your metal chair bowed, its legs curled in protest.

This would be an extremely bad time for you to lose control of your powers, to say the least.

You start licking at Arataka too, both to distract yourself and to feel him moan and gag around you. He pulls off, a light sting when he forgets to cushion his teeth, but then he starts sucking on the head of your cock while stroking what he can't reach. It's clumsy and fumbling and turns you lightheaded all the same. You pull off him with a soft pop, kissing his thighs and squeezing his ass. "You make me feel so good," you tell him, and he whimpers, hips stuttering forward at the praise. "Let me show you something new."

You wait until he's stopped sucking and touching you, no doubt about to ask a question. That's when you part his cheeks and lick a stripe from his balls to his hole, clean skin taste and light fur on your tongue. Arataka all but wails out your name, seizing up before his upper body collapses, his face half-squashed on your thigh. You suck on his hole and spear him open with as much of your tongue that can reach. You do your best to fuck him with your tongue, and you feel around before finding and tugging on his cock. Just when your jaw starts to tire, you hear his muffled moans turn to shrieks, and he comes all over your chest. He turns to jelly, and you catch him before he can fall onto his mess, and gently deposit him beside you. You run a hand over the slick on your chest, and start stroking yourself with it, deliciously filthy act that surprises even yourself. You let your eyes slide shut, groaning, recalling everything that's transpired, the only jerk-off material you'll need from now on. The mattress creaks, and you look down to see Arataka glaring at you. Or trying to.

"You didn't even wait for me to recover properly! Or wh-what, you don't think I can make you cum?"

"Arataka," you rumble, "if you want to make me cum, get down there, and look at me."

He catches on to what you want, and he does what he's told, crouching between your knees, staring up at you like he's a shipwreck survivor and you're a green stretch of land. You're already so close. And then he starts talking.

"Please cum, Mob, I wanna see it, wanna see what you look like when you lose it, give it to me, I want it—"

Your orgasm brings the entire futon off into the air, and both of you with it. Arataka doesn't even bat an eye. Some of your mess gets on his face and hair, but he seals his lips around you so the rest of it ends up in his mouth. You groan and try to breathe, concentrate on bringing the futon back down, but he's still suckling the head of your cock even after you're done, now bordering on sensitive. "Arataka," you growl, and he backs off, dopey grin on his face.

"You don't taste so bad. Next time, everything goes in my mouth, okay?" His grin sharpens. "And in my ass."

"I've created a monster," you groan, your cock giving a halfhearted twitch at the prospect, but you're chuckling too. It takes another minute or two before you can bring the futon back to the floor with a gentle thump. "Ah. Sorry about that. This always happens whenever I. Erm. Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's okay, nothing bad happened."

You don't reply. You haven't had an accident since Ritsu, decades ago. And Tome's sort-of employment of you gives you a chance to expel your energy. You never have to worry about your one-night stands, few and far in between. But Arataka, once your lighthouse, is now the sun itself, and you are no better than Icarus. The fear begins gnawing at you, and you're beginning to doubt if you've done the right thing letting this happen, if you can let this continue—

Arataka grabs your face, light slap of his palms startling you from your reverie. "Whatever you're worrying about, don't. We'll be okay. We'll cross whatever bridge we need to when we get there." He speaks so matter-of-factly, and while you may not believe him, you're reassured enough to let your bad thoughts go. You move to kiss him, but then wrinkle your nose at the gluey feeling of dried sweat and fluids.

"Wanna take another shower and then nap?"

"My legs are still kinda wobbly…"

You chuckle, grab a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. After a quick shower, you return with some water and a damp washcloth, to find Arataka saying goodbye to someone on his phone and then ending the call.

"I told my parents I'd be studying overnight with some friends… um. Is that okay? Sorry, I probably should have asked first, I just don't want to leave, or I might wake up from a dream because this is all way too good to be true—"

You lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. "This isn't a dream. Help me make dinner, and then we can dream all we want after we go to bed."

Arataka beams at you. "Okay." He gulps down his water then wipes himself clean. You're rummaging around for the smallest shirt in your closet when you feel him come up behind you and hug you tight. "I really do love you," he mumbles. "You're just such a good and beautiful person inside and out."

You turn to hug him back. "I love you too. And I'm not saying it just because you did." Some unspoken tension drains from Arataka, allowing you to hold him closer. A chain of moments pass, each improving on what came before. You're aware of the fact that he put your own boxers on instead of his, the light goosebumps on his shoulders, the blur of love and fear filling the slight spaces between you. His lashes are fluttering against your bare chest.

You close your eyes, and hold on.


	2. and you can have this heart to break

reigen's POV

* * *

You wake into the perfect dark and for a second you don't know where or what you are. Then you hear, feel the cause of what roused you in the first place: Mob snuffling against your head, his arm flexing restlessly where you've pillowed it under your neck. You're in the same position you were in when you fell asleep. Mob didn't even think to free himself despite his arm surely being sore and numb by now. Your heart lights up like Tokyo streets, brighter than noonday sun.

By increments, you lift your head from his arm and roll a little way away. You fumble for your phone in the pocket of your pants strewn nearby and squint against the horrid glare. It's one a.m. You've only been out for a few hours.

You grumble and activate the flashlight on your phone to help navigate to the bathroom, not wanting to flip light switches and wake Mob. After a quick toilet break, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Nothing is different or changed about your face, which feels strange. There should be a scarlet letter pinned to you somewhere proclaiming, 'I have had the sex!' but there is none.

What you see there instead is unmitigated joy.

The wonderful, baffling, beautiful man you've been in love with for so long loves you too. It didn't go at all like you were expecting it to, and you wouldn't have it any other way. It's like you've gained psychic powers of your own, floating your way back to his bed, where Mob's let you lie in. Where he's kissed you and touched you and—

You shudder, feeling yourself twitch in your boxers. _His_ boxers. You didn't mean to put them on earlier, but he didn't make you change out of it. They sit too low on your hips, only barely held in place by the curve of your ass. You want to steal his shirts too. Watch his reaction, a gentle, flustered smile or a candid remark about how you look silly. Maybe he'll let you bring one home tomorrow.

Mob's still slumbering when you tiptoe into the room. You fantasize for a second about waking him up so you can fool around, but decide against it. That can wait until morning, when you can see his face with dawn coming through the little window. Your heart is so full it borders on physical pain.

You perch yourself on the futon, delicate as you please, and arrange yourself into lying down facing Mob, your head inches from his outstretched arm. You give in to a sentimental urge and place your fingers on his open palm, a prelude to holding hands.

Within milliseconds, the hand snaps around yours like a steel trap.

After an alarmed yelp and failed attempts to pull away, you realize that you might have woken up Mob, and that he was far more startled than you were, acting on instinct. Which is impressive, since the illumination from your phone flashlight that you'd forgotten to kill tells you that he hasn't even opened his eyes yet. You feel embarrassed now, stammering, "Ah, s-sorry, shishou, it's me. Just Arataka. I'm sorry, I just had to go pee and came back and wanted to hold your hand… Ah, I promise I washed!" You try to laugh it off, but he still hasn't stirred, or loosened his grip on your fingers. "Sh-shishou… Mob, you're hurting me."

Several things happen at once. Mob begins glowing, not with the deep ocean blues and violets that you know, but an all-encompassing fluorescent white like the afterimage of old TVs, somehow casting more shadows instead of dispelling them. A strange wave of energy slices through you, unfamiliar and cold, leaching your warmth. Its size and impact rattle the whole apartment, heavy aching sensation in your bones like you've been flung into a wall, yet you don't move a millimeter out of place.

And Mob opens his eyes.

They might be eyes, they might be stars, they might be fires. And they're not Mob's eyes at all.

"M-mob?" you stammer, your pulse ratcheting. "What are you doing, what's going on?"

That iris-less gaze stirs, fixates itself on you. The rest of Mob's face is just as blank and calm, and something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

"Mob!" you cry, giving in to your panic, trying to wrench yourself free even if it feels like you'll dislocate your fingers. "Mob, what's happening to you?"

Mob sits up, still staring at you, and finally releases your hand. But now you're shoved by an invisible force flat onto your back, unable to move, like what you've read online about sleep paralysis. You fling your gaze around to find your phone, but it's floating away, along with everything else in the room. The futon you're both on stays firmly rooted to the floor, like Mob is his own center of gravity.

Mob had always told you that psychic powers were difficult to have and to control, that you should be more afraid, have some self-preservation. You never understood his seemingly unfounded worries. You'd never felt even a modicum of fear around him, no matter how many evil spirits he wiped from this mortal plane like dust off a windshield.

Not until now.

You are so far beyond dread, beyond horror that you've settled into stunned resignation, paralyzed by your own mind as well as the force weighing you down. Even your voice refuses to scream, your mind a perfect blank. A spectator in your own show. All you can do is watch as your shishou kneels above you. He raises a hand to caress your face. You manage to squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for pain, for bone-carving agony.

Instead the hand drags down your neck, traverses your chest, and pulls your shirt off you.

Wait. What?

You can't help gasping as fingers dig into your chest a little, catching on your nipples, which aren't even that sensitive but feel so vulnerable in this electric moment. You're so confused by this emotional whiplash. "M-mob?" you somehow manage to squeak out again. "Mob, are you… doing this?"

However, a glance at Mob's face tells you that there's no one home. Not the Mob you know and love. His head tilts to the side the slightest bit, the lights of his eyes unwavering. And suddenly, you're scooped up and into his lap. There's no grace in what follows, rough hands grabbing and squeezing your belly, your thighs, your ass. You splutter and try to shove away but your limbs may as well be swimming through molasses. To your utter mortification, you can feel your face flush and your cock twitch at all this stimulation. A garbled yip escapes you when his tongue laves over your nipple in one broad stroke, and several more over your chest and onto the other one. Like a predator toying with a morsel of prey.

A shaky tendril of hope creeps onto you. This is probably Mob's very weird version of sleepwalking. This would explain why he was so tentative with you, why he didn't date others in the past. But you can roll with it. You still want him, even with his ocean floor-dweller eyes and the dark twists of his aura. His direct boldness is good too. You love how he was so tender with you earlier, but it's nice to know he can stop treating you like you're made of glass.

You moan in earnest when Mob latches on to your nipple and _sucks_, delicious ache of teeth and tongue. You clutch at the back of his skull, marveling at how his hair drifts up and tickles your fingers. He licks and bites his way down your stomach, the insides of your thighs. It takes you a few seconds to realize that he's using his powers to lift you and pull off your boxers. His hands squeeze your ass while he guides you to his mouth and begins sucking your dick with the same curious enthusiasm.

Mob's mouth is inhumanly hot, and wet, taking you all the way to the root. And instead of pulling his head away, he coaxes your whole body off, and then brings you to sink right back. You can't even thrust into his mouth; he moves you around like a rag doll, neither of you having to do the work. You curse and whine and whimper as he rocks you faster and faster. You're so close, but this bizarre sex position of being suspended in the air makes orgasm seem unfathomable. And then you feel his thumbs dig in, seeking the ring of muscle around your hole, massaging in circles. He presses hard on it, and on your perineum, at the same time he hums around your cock, and you cum so suddenly and so hard you can't even shout. He doesn't miss a beat, gulping down everything you give until you're shaking and sobbing from overstimulation.

"Stuh-stop! Please, oh please, too much…"

He brings you down to his eye level again, and you're in a pleasant enough fog that his unearthly appearance and the fact that he keeps you floating in the air don't phase you. There's a plasticky _pop_, like a container being opened, and you put two and two together when you feel slick digits prod at your hole.

Mob's going to fuck you. He's going to _ruin_ you, if what's preceded this is anything to go by. Just like that, you're already half-hard and ready to go again. You focus and breathe, moaning in delighted triumph when your muscles relax enough to let the tips of his fingers in, and he coaxes in the rest. They're so much longer and thicker than yours when you tried this, several times before, and the angle is so much better. You clench around him, trying to get him deeper.

"hngh."

You manage to look down your body to Mob's face. The stoic mask has cracked, and his mouth is still open from his little groan, a starved intensity in the set of his jaw. His eyes don't move from yours as he gets more lube on his hand, in order to ease in a third finger, and _oh_. You're feeling the stretch and burn now, but it's a good pain, the sensation and excitement that if his fingers alone feel this good, oh gods _the rest of him_—

"mine."

He says it so low that you almost miss it over the delirium of your own thoughts. You gasp, clenching around him once again, overeager. You start babbling, "Y-yeah, yeah, please, please take me, Mob, I'm yours—"

His free hand, which has been grasping your hip, tightens hard enough to bruise. You cry out in surprise, and watch his eyebrows furrow as he snarls, in such a vindictive voice, "not mob's. _mine_."

All the blood leaves your face, the heat vacuumed away. Just like that, you know for certain that this isn't Mob. He's somehow been possessed, some evil spirit has finally taken revenge for all their comrades felled by your shishou's hand, torturing the both of you for it. But then, why use sexual assault as attraction? Most of all, Mob is insanely strong. This situation shouldn't even happen. This being, this creature, is unknown, unknowable. It's bested _Mob_. What hope does an ordinary high school idiot like you have?

You don't know at what moment you started crying, but now you can't stop. "Pl-please, evil spirit, please, let my master go, let us go, please, please, please—!"

The fingers inside you _spread, _and your body betrays you, makes you hiccup a moan against your will. You dare to look upon Mob's—whoever wears Mob's face, and are met with an intense, focused expression, like you're the only thing in this world worth seeing.

"not an evil spirit," he intones, low and precise. "i am me. this is who kageyama shigeo really is, when i'm not held back."

You're so confused. This is all too much. But you cling to this little driftwood of information, hope it'll keep you afloat. It's still your shishou, or a dark reflection of him. He won't harm you, it's not the end of the world. You try to gulp back the hysteria bubbling in your ribcage.

"and i can finally have you." His fingers shove as deep inside you as they can go, and you squeal, your cock jumping from the delicious pressure. "i have wanted you for so long."

You gasp, aflush with delight at this blunt admission. "R-really?"

The ghost of a smirk passes on his face. "yes. you've been a terrible brat. it's time to put you in your place."

The ravenous maw in your soul rises to meet his. It's an addictive feeling, knowing the one you want so badly wants you just as much. "Ooh," you giggle, "you gonna punish me, shishou?"

He hums, drags you in by the hip, the same one he gripped so tight earlier. The bruised ache only makes you moan, try and spread your legs wider. "i like when you call me that."

"I thought you hated it," you rasp, shuddering when the fingers inside you spread, and spread, and spread. Something hot and wet nudges the meat of your ass, and you realize it's his cock, bared and readied to take you. He's not even going to put you down on the bed; just leave you in the air like this so he can go as hard as he wants.

You're so aroused you feel like you're going to pass out.

"Well, if I've been so naughty…" You manage to reach down and cup your own ass, spread yourself apart for a good view. "Punish me, shishou."

There's an audible crack in the air, his powers flaring hot-white enough to blind you. He pulls his fingers out of you with no preamble, and you whimper at the drag and sting of it. You're not even given time to catch your breath when the head of his cock sinks into your still-gaping hole.

"W-wait, please, go slow_whhghk_!" He's already pulled you all the way down on his cock, and it's too much, he's too _big_. You don't even have anything to grasp and ground yourself. You can only clutch at your chest, your stomach. To your disbelieving arousal, you can feel the hard tip of him through your belly. You didn't even know this was possible beyond perverted dojinshi.

And then he starts fucking you in earnest.

You can't even begin to describe the kinds of sounds you're making now. He's thrusting hard at the same time he slams your hips down on him, lurid slaps of skin on skin that's going to bruise you everywhere, from inside-out. His cock catches on your prostate every few thrusts. You're losing control of yourself, eyes rolling in the back of your head and body shuddering uselessly in his hands, a sweaty lump of clay for him to shape as he pleases. The universe burns down to the harsh drag of him inside you, cracking you open like an egg.

You don't know if you're wailing from pain or pleasure. You don't know if you want him to stop or go harder. You don't know if you're being actively fucked, or you're just a warm body for him to use or abuse.

You don't know why you're so close to cumming despite all this.

He's been silent the whole time, save for some harsh panting. Without warning, he grunts and buries himself in you balls-deep, holding still. You whimper at the sharp throbs of his cock inside you, wondering if he came early or you've simply lost all sense of time. You hope that he'll at least finish you off before this is over.

Except, he isn't pulling out. He isn't going soft at all. He rumbles out an assessing "hm," and you blearily look down to see him clambering off the bed, pulling your levitated body with him. He stands straight, his feet planted wide.

All the better to break you.

"Ohgod_fuhck_—!" He resumes at a far deeper and more brutal pace, your teeth clacking in your skull and your fingertips going numb. You get the vague ticklish sensation of something trickling out of you and down the crack of your ass. Mob's cum. Mob's _cum,_ lubricating you, and you wonder deliriously how many times he can go, how much he'll make you take—

You fumble for your leaking dick, desperate to cum, to dull the edge of pain that's growing with each thrust. You only manage to stroke yourself a few times before both your wrists are grabbed and pinned behind your back.

"no," he utters. His eyes are somehow blazing brighter, taking in your red, sweaty, desperate face. You sob and blubber, tears of frustration blurring your vision. "come from this. and only from this."

"I c-ca_han't_—!" He elevates you from your horizontal position to press against his chest, and he kisses you. Ravages you, rather; his teeth pulling on your lips and his tongue almost down to your throat, making you gag and whine.

He pulls away, staring at you like an old god. "i know you can." A beautiful, cruel smile stretches his mouth. "don't you want to make shishou happy?"

You utter a panicked moan, the tension in your belly coiling tighter despite everything, your muscles fluttering around his cock. He cups the back of your head, brings his mouth close to your ear. "be a good boy for me," he growls.

And somehow, just like that, the dam inside you breaks. You cum with your cock trapped between your stomach and his, screaming so hard that something ruptures in your throat. It's such a long, drawn-out orgasm that you wonder if you're dying, if you're coming alive.

Nothing's clear anymore.

He croons into your ear, "what an obedient slut. and all mine."

You whimper into his shoulder, unsure if you like this kind of dirty talk. You're going soft, and the uncomfortable, sticky feeling of your cum and all your sweat becomes more pronounced.

And like a goddamned machine, he's still fucking you at the same pace.

The afterglow is fading fast, overstimulation on both your dick and your prostate, and you warble out, "Shihngh—Shishou, it h-hurts a lot now, please… slower—"

"you'll take what i give you."

Without pulling out, he spins you in the air, so your back is to him and your limbs dangle uselessly to the floor. You wail and scrabble at his arms holding you by the shoulders, but he's both the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Your vision is going dark at the edges, your ears ringing, and you only barely hear him snarl, "you were made for this. this is all you're good for."

Time becomes liquid, after that. He cums into you three, maybe four, maybe five more times. Your belly is achingly full, slightly distended from how much he's released. You cum too, at least once; pathetic dribbles from your soft cock that brings very little relief in this onslaught. There are bruises and scratches all over your back and thighs and ass from however he grabs you, some bite marks on your neck. When unconsciousness takes you, you welcome it like a shipwreck survivor welcoming dry land.

You wake to the sounds of someone crying.

You manage to force your eyes open, and it's Mob. Mob as you know and love, all of him, his dark eyes crinkled as he sobs without ceasing. His streams of tears are floating upward, colliding with the ceiling. He's glowing a heavy blue as he hovers his hands over your limp body strewn on the bed. You can't even feel your legs. You whimper at the dull ache deep inside you, and Mob answers with a ruined animal noise. His trembling hands glow brighter, and you realize he's healing you. You manage to raise your head enough to see the handprint bruises all over you recede, the scratches and bites thin out. But there are scars. And the ache in both your entrance and your heart only grow more unbearable.

"W-water," you croak, your throat and mouth desert-dry, and Mob jerks a hand forward, a glass levitating into his grip. He supports your head to help you drink, some of it spilling down your neck, cooling your heated skin.

"A-Arataka," Mob sobs, his hair twisting wilder, "oh gods, Arataka, I can't even remember what happened, what I did, I h-hurt you, I'm so sorry, I'm s-so sorry—"

"You. Don't remember?" you rasp.

Mob doesn't even hear you, on the verge of hyperventilating as he weeps, "Oh gods, it's happened again, I've hurt someone again, oh gods I'm so sorry—"

"_M-mob_," you manage to snap, and Mob's mouth clamps shut, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

You breathe through the pain, and tell him, "It's not your fault. And I forgive you anyway." Tears are escaping you too, now, and you ask him, your voice breaking, "Do you still love me?"

"Of course I love you," Mob cries in utter anguish, "and this is why you should never see me again. I'm going to hurt you again!"

"Hold me."

He's baffled enough that he stops crying for a moment. "H-hold me!" you plead, raising your feeble arms to him. He sinks into your embrace, but doesn't let his hands touch you, his tears washing over your skin like holy fire. "See?" you try to say. "You're not hurting me right now. You could never hurt me."

"B-but—"

"You could _never_. Hurt me." You squeeze him tighter. "We'll figure something out."

He's rattling in your arms. "I've tried, I've been trying for _years_—"

"But you didn't have me around then. I'm here now. And I'm not leaving you."

Mob cries into your chest, his shaking hands coming to rest on your face, on your heart. You look out the window, at the hint of dawn that's eating up the black sky, and promise him in your head, _i'm going to be right by your side no matter what._

* * *

**END**


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